


Lever

by MoanDiary



Series: Simple Machines [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Fuckruary 2021, Fuckruary 2021: Location Location Location, Incest, Multi, Ooops, Oops, Sex Pollen, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M, Twincest, oooops, oopsie, whoops, whoopsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: By the time she returns to her car, Lucifer and Michael are acting...strange.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Michael, Chloe Decker/Michael/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Simple Machines [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146359
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	Lever

Chloe was never quite clear on why Michael was at their crime scene that day in the first place. He does this sometimes—dropping in on them in odd places, usually to air some sort of grievance with Lucifer. Sometimes it’s at the precinct or Lucifer’s penthouse, but often it’s at a suspect’s house, or on the sidewalk next to a taco truck where they happen to stop for lunch, or (worst of all) at a crime scene. The number of times Chloe has had to bully two bickering archangels away from a dead body and a crowd of cops is...not insignificant. It’s like he’s got some kind of Lucifer radar. And for all she knows about angel powers, much less twin angel powers, he actually might.

At first, when her resentment for Michael was still fresh, she thought he showed up out of spite, just to entertain himself by tormenting them. But the more it happens, the more she realizes he’s just lonely. He’s more like Lucifer than either of them would care to admit — proud, superior, and annoyingly smug, but at the same time desperate for connection and acceptance. The twins’ arguments usually end with some kind of stalemate, or nothing but the slimmest of rhetorical victories, but both seem more cheerful afterwards. 

This time he’s leaning against Chloe’s car when they come outside after searching a suspect’s home, nothing more than a distinctive asymmetrical shadow in the evening gloom, hands clasped in front of him. The case is an odd one, a double murder of some kind of religious cultists. Its proximity to devil-worship has put Lucifer on edge already, and seeing his twin sets him off.

“Oh, perfect!” he says, throwing up his hands. “The cherry on top of this absolute feces sundae of a day.”

“Nice to see you too, brother,” Michael replies, laying the smarm on thick.

“Off the car, Michael, and fly back to your little hovel. We have murders to solve.”

Michael doesn’t move. “If you didn’t like my apartment, then maybe you should have paid for a better one.”

“You’re lucky I paid for anything at all! Now bugger off, or I’ll have you living in IKEA again faster than you can say ‘security deposit.’”

“I’d rather live in IKEA than—”

There’s a loud bang that makes all three of them jump, turning to look at the house Chloe and Lucifer just searched. An ancient door into a cellar, so concealed by overgrown weeds that Chloe had completely missed it, has been thrown open, and a figure in all black stands silhouetted in red light streaming up from under the house. Chloe reaches for her weapon, but the figure brandishes something at her that looks a little like a gun—a flare gun, maybe?—and she freezes.

“Thomas Bateman?” Chloe calls cautiously. “We just wanted to ask you some questions.”

Behind her, she can hear Lucifer and Michael creeping forward.

“No more questions,” the figure hisses. “No more Tommy Bateman. No more angels meddling in my affairs!”

The figure swings the weapon to the left, towards Lucifer, and fires it. There’s a burst of red light and a blast of what looks like powder, and Chloe spins in time to see both twins hit the ground. Michael looks like he tackled Lucifer, and both are absolutely coated in the red powder. They both cough and groan, apparently unharmed, and Chloe spins back around to find that the figure is gone. Not run away, just— _gone_.

“Ugh,” Lucifer moans between coughs, climbing to his feet. “Did you really have to? I’m invulnerable again, if you recall.”

“Who knows with you? It’s vulnerable one day, invulnerable the next. I’m not losing my rent subsidy,” Michael retorts, brushing powder off the sleeves of his blazer.

“Guys, I’m gonna call this in and get some unis to search the area for Bateman.” Chloe leans into her car to get her radio. “Do you want me to get a paramedic to check on you? Who _knows_ what that stuff was...”

“Nonsense,” Lucifer coughs. “Angelic constitution, remember? I can handle it.”

“ _We_ can handle it,” Michael corrects.

It takes a couple minutes for a handful of squad cars to arrive, and a few more for Chloe to give them a description of the suspect and coordinate a search. By the time she returns to her car, Lucifer and Michael are acting...strange. 

Lucifer is staring at her fixedly, fiddling almost obsessively with a cufflink. Michael, now awkwardly leaning against the car again, a world away from his previous air of studied disinterest, seems strangely anxious, casting glances at her, then the ground, then back to her, then the car, then a random uni, then back to her. 

“Detective!” Lucifer enthuses, reaching for her once she comes close. “You’re back! Do you know, I think I’m quite ready to call it a day. Shall we return to the penthouse?” He presses close to her and she realizes he’s fully erect, ready and raring to go under his not-really-concealing-anything suit pants.

“Lucifer,” she says, aghast. “Time and place, remember? I need to stay here and coordinate the search, and then I need to do the paperwork about the search. We’ve been through this, like, so many times before.”

Up close, he looks a little strained, and maybe...flushed? 

“Do you _need_ to?” he whines. Michael is silent in the face of Lucifer’s impropriety, which is strange enough by itself.

“Are you sure you two are okay?” Chloe asks, increasingly unnerved.

“I think…” Michael grits out. “Maybe there was something in that powder.”

“Nonsense, I’m just a little hotter underneath the collar than normal,” Lucifer says, adjusting himself not-so-surreptitiously. A passing uni gives them a lingering glance, eyebrows flying upward.

Chloe realizes Michael’s hands, ostensibly casually clasped in front of him, are white-knuckled. He’s practically _vibrating_. While she has her head turned, Lucifer leans down and starts wetly kissing her neck, one of his hands coming around to grope her ass. Michael’s eyes track the motion fixedly. Chloe bats Lucifer away frantically. “Lucifer, we are at _work_ ,” she hisses.

“Mmmm?” he hums. His pupils are clearly dilated now and he seems very distracted by her mouth. Another hand grazes her side, and she turns to see Michael, similarly distracted, reaching for her breast. She catches both of their hands and holds them away pointedly.

“Okay, both of you in the car. Now.”

“Detective, I suppose I do feel a bit strange,” Lucifer says once they’re in the relative privacy of her car, palming his straining erection uncomfortably. Michael takes the driver’s side of the back seat, wedged in the corner with his long legs crossed awkwardly. She can’t see much of him in the rear view mirror, but she can feel him squirming from the way his legs are jammed up against the back of her seat.

“Yeah, I realize that,” Chloe says. “Do you think you two got dosed with something? Some kind of aphrodisiac?”

“I can’t believe there’s something on the market capable of instantly giving me an erection that can cut glass that I haven’t tried before,” Lucifer muses, absently stroking himself through his trousers. “Only thing that makes sense is if it’s some kind of supernatural homebrew.”

“What are you even saying?” Michael asks, a clear edge of panic in his voice. “This will go away, right? It feels... _unbearable_.”

Lucifer twists around in his seat to look at his brother. “Michael, I think you’ll find if you stroke your little sword a bit, soon enough there will be a sort of pleasurable explosion, after which things might not seem so dire.”

“I’ve—” Michael huffs. “I’ve done _that_ before, Lucifer. This is different. I can hardly think! Or breathe. Especially not with—” He snaps his mouth shut.

“With the Detective in the car?” Lucifer finishes, his eyes fixed on her in a way that makes her feel completely naked. “I wonder if it’s an Amorosa Hex. A supercharged one, clearly.”

Michael groans in recognition.

“A what hex?” Chloe asks.

“Cupid’s arrow, essentially. A love spell. A sex hex. Causes the victim to be physically compelled to copulate with the first person they see. A messy business, and I thought the practice died out hundreds of years ago.”

Oh. _Oh_. She feels a hysterical laugh building inside her.

“Y-you mean, you _both?_ With me?” Chloe sputters.

“Hmm, yes, why don’t we dump my brother and head home? Or maybe just pull around the corner and out of sight?” Lucifer’s hand snakes across the center console and slips between her thighs. Chloe slaps it away again.

“I’m not going to release a horny, magically roofied angel upon the city of Los Angeles,” Chloe announces, wondering dazedly how her life turned into this.

Lucifer makes a disappointed noise. She cranes her neck to look at Michael in the mirror. He looks flushed and miserable with his dark eyes clamped shut, and so much like Lucifer that it makes her heart clench in sympathy. If he were enjoying this even the slightest bit, she might not be thinking the thing she’s thinking right now.

“And what happens if the ‘copulation’ doesn’t happen?”

“Death, in humans, at least,” Lucifer pants. “Eventually.”

“Nothing. We’re angels,” Michael croaks. “Unless you’ve forgotten.” His jab at Lucifer is uncharacteristically half-hearted.

“Well, unfortunately, my brother is determined to survive, so let’s drop him off around the block and head home for a nice shag. _Please_ ,” Lucifer adds, his voice is becoming increasingly strained. He also, worryingly, has begun to visibly sweat, something she’s never seen him do before except for when he was bleeding out on the floor of Lux. His chest heaves with increasingly labored breaths and the hand not on his cock is now clenched on his knee.

Chloe makes a decision and peels out, speeding onto the freeway.

Which turns out to be the wrong move. Some kind of accident ahead has turned the 405 into a parking lot. At the rate they’re moving, it’ll be at least an hour before they can get to the penthouse. Michael is moaning quietly in distress in her back seat. Lucifer’s jaw is clenched so tight she’s worried he’ll crack a tooth.

“How are you guys doing?” she asks tersely.

“Barely preventing myself from...ripping your clothes off...and taking you...on the hood of the car,” Lucifer grits out.

“Hrngh,” Michael adds.

Chloe’s fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel. “Is there anywhere closer we can go? Closer and...private?” She draws the line at _public_ magic-fueled threesomes, apparently.

“My apartment is...nearby,” Michael pants with great effort.

“Ugh,” Lucifer says emphatically, but doesn’t protest. Another troubling sign.

Chloe finds the address in Lucifer’s phone and takes the next exit, freeing them from the traffic jam as they wind through surface streets towards Michael’s place.

She’s never been to this much-argued-about apartment before, but seeing it now, she can agree it’s nowhere near Lucifer’s standards, or even hers. That said, she lived somewhere worse, _with roommates_ , back in the years between when her _Hot Tub High School_ money ran out and when she enrolled in the police academy. It’s an extremely ordinary Los Angeles apartment complex, with a grimy pastel stucco exterior and a courtyard containing some anemic shrubs. Michael’s apartment is on the ground floor, too, on the side that faces the street.

They screech to a halt somewhat diagonally in a not-quite-large-enough street parking space. Chloe thanks not-God for her police plates and immunity from parking tickets. The two angels stumble out of the car and almost immediately crowd her, Lucifer pressing into her back in a long, hot line, hands wandering, and Michael somehow still restraining himself, but sticking close to her side as they hurry into the complex.

Michael’s hands are shaking too hard to fit his keys into the lock, so Chloe takes them and opens the door herself, her nerves thrumming but hands steady. The inside of the apartment is worse than the exterior, but mostly due to an almost complete lack of furnishings or decoration. A tiny old TV sits on a metal chair in the corner, opposite a matching chair, which she takes to be for the viewer to sit on. They stumble past the kitchen, with its absolutely barren vinyl countertops and painfully ‘80s cabinetry, and down a short hallway that leads to the single bedroom and bathroom. She barely has time to note the neatly made full-size bed with a low-end IKEA bed frame before Lucifer drags her down onto it, hands already working to rip her clothing off.

“Lucifer, careful, _caref_ —oh, come on,” she protests as he tears both her shirt and bra completely in half.

“Need...you…” he pants, maybe slightly apologetically. 

Chloe turns her head to see Michael slumped onto his knees on the floor beside them, expression pained and one hand moving inside his open trousers as he stares at her fixedly.

She gasps as Lucifer’s mouth finds her nipple, suddenly realizing through her emergency autopilot how hot the scenario is. As hot as one of the guilty dreams Lucifer sometimes tries to pry the details of out of her. As hot as her boyfriend, the Devil, and his identical angelic twin desperate to fuck her. At the same time. She knows she’s going to feel guilty later, like she took advantage of them. But they’re not leaving her much in the way of options. 

As Lucifer continues to wreak havoc upon her clothes with extreme prejudice, his mouth never leaving her skin, Michael grips the bedframe with his free hand like a drowning man clutching a life preserver, while the one in his pants is a blur of motion. He’s nearly sobbing with desperation, eyes clenched shut and face red, as release continues to elude him.

“Hey,” she says firmly, resting her hand on top of the one clutching the bed. His eyes blink open and fix on hers. “You can touch me.”

This seems to finally snap Lucifer out of his lust-fueled haze. He pops up from between her legs, mouth wet and cheeks flushed, but looking much improved now that he’s been touching her. “No he bloody well cannot!”

“He got dosed with the same thing you did!” Chloe retorts.

“And he can have cosmic blue balls for all I care!”

“I’m not going to let your brother _die_ because you’re jealous.”

Lucifer finally actually looks at his twin, trembling and curled in on himself, cock painfully flushed where it sticks out of his open fly. And if there’s one thing Lucifer understands, it’s desire. His face softens slightly. He looks back at her.

“Do _you_ want this?”

Chloe feels her cheeks heat. “I’m not...completely _opposed_ to it.”

Lucifer groans. “The things I do to please women. Fine. But if our balls so much as graze, I’m throwing him out the window.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and guides Michael’s shaking hand to her breast. It squeezes her almost convulsively before relaxing and beginning to stroke in an exploratory way, measuring the heft of it. His broad thumb swipes across her nipple, making it stiffen further, and he makes a noise deep in his throat and surges upwards to lean over her, his other hand fixing on her other breast. She moans as he kneads and massages her while Lucifer makes a meal of her cunt, hands gripping her ass for leverage. 

She writhes on the now-rumpled but still-made bed, sideswiped by the sudden pleasure of two men entirely focused on her. Two identical men. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can pretend they’re just two of Lucifer. That is, if one of them weren’t clearly struggling to figure out what to do next. Lucifer never runs out of ideas in the bedroom, but Michael is stalling as he continues to massage her breasts, glancing anxiously and longingly at what Lucifer is doing between her legs.

“Can I touch you?” Chloe asks. Michael’s gaze snaps back up to her face.

“Yeah,” he croaks in his disconcerting American drawl.

She puts a hand atop one of his where it rests on her breast and strokes it experimentally, letting her fingers wrap around to push under his sleeve and stroke lightly across his pulse point, where she knows Lucifer is sensitive. His eyes slide shut with a pleased sigh.

She slips her other hand up under his sweater and brushes across the firm muscles of his abdomen. Body hair totally untamed, unlike her fastidious Devil. She likes it, though she knows she can never, _ever_ say that to Lucifer now. She strokes his belly for a few moments, feeling his rapid breathing. It’s a little reminiscent of calming a wild animal, she thinks. Once he seems accustomed to her touch, her hand descends to wrap around his hot length. She strokes up and down once, and the breath rushes out of him like he’s been punched in the gut. His hands tighten almost painfully on her breasts as his hips kick forward. A spurt of come leaves a hot line across her belly, then another on her chest, as he climaxes explosively.

Between her legs, she can feel the vibration of Lucifer laughing. “Hush,” she says, tugging remonstratively on his hair. “Or I’ll tell him how fast you came the first time we had sex.”

“That was after years of build-up, not forty-five minutes,” Lucifer grumbles.

Chloe thinks about the day when Michael was still masquerading as Lucifer but after she had seen through the ruse, about her awkward seduction, and about the expression of raw longing she saw on his face, and wonders if he’s completely right.

Michael collapses forward and lands over her, one elbow braced on the mattress, opposite hand still squeezing her breast convulsively now and then. His cock is maybe a little less purple than it was, but his erection shows no sign of waning. She swipes a thumb over its dripping head and he hisses and trembles, hips twitching. She releases him to wipe her hand on the sheets and then reaches up to tug on his loose, soft hair, guiding him down to put his mouth on her breast. He seems to catch on fairly quickly, setting to sucking on her nipple while Lucifer redoubles his efforts between her legs, tongue flicking at her clit. Chloe had almost forgotten about her own pleasure, but now that both of them are focused on her again, it comes roaring back.

Chloe mewls and squirms against the sheets as the twins pleasure her. She sinks her other hand into Lucifer’s hair and grinds against his face as his fingers press inside her and curl upwards just so, beckoning. She follows eagerly, tipping into a powerful orgasm, shaking with the force of it as she grips the two angels for dear life.

When her eyes finally uncross, it’s to the sight of Lucifer climbing up beside her, his pupils still dilated and unfocused and dick bobbing, staring at her mouth with intent. Michael is stretched out on her other side, gently sucking one nipple while his free hand roves her torso in an aimless caress. His hips grind absently into the mattress.

Lucifer dips down to kiss her in a searing, obscene tangle of lips and tongue, pulling out every trick in his bag in a somewhat confusingly enthusiastic jumble. She moans into his mouth and reaches down to grasp his cock. He grunts and jolts, his mouth falling open, gasping against her lips. Then he’s hurriedly manhandling her, lifting her leg and pulling her hips into position and sinking into her to the hilt. She gasps at the sudden stretch, but thankfully she’s soaking wet already. He starts up a quick, shallow rhythm—barely withdrawing before thrusting home again and again.

She loops one arm around his neck and grabs his ass with the other, breathing in ragged gasps against his stubbled throat. She’s turned onto one side, so Lucifer’s thrusts nudge her gradually across the bed, until she collides with Michael’s warm, hard (in more way than one) form. She cranes her neck to see how he’s reacting.

His eyes are hooded as he watches them—mostly her, really. He still has that drugged, foggy expression, staring at them hungrily but apparently at a loss for how he can participate. Chloe reaches behind her and grabs his backside, urging him to press up against her ass. After a little guidance, he seems to get the idea, rutting against her sweaty, slick backside for stimulation, breath coming in labored gusts against the crown of her head.

Lucifer watches the proceedings with no small amount of distaste, slowing his motion to a gentle but relentless grind and clutching her possessively. Chloe is not even slightly dismayed to find herself walled in on both sides by the twins, the meat in the universe’s perhaps most unlikely sandwich. They groan and gasp on either side of her, identical hands roving and gripping and clutching, though quick with a defensive slap or convulsive twitch when they happen to graze each other. She thinks she’d be content to stay here for quite a long time.

Which makes it unfortunate when a particularly enthusiastic thrust on Michael’s part sends his cock slipping between her legs and nudging firmly at her already extremely occupied entrance. _Oh no,_ Chloe thinks wildly, mind spinning with sudden panic, and maybe the slightest amount of excitement. _Not sure I’m ready to find out what it feels like to be a Double Stuf Oreo._

Either luckily or unluckily for her, the twins seem to have much the same thought, both reeling away from each other with sounds of disgust. Lucifer pulls out of her and scrambles up onto his knees, and Michael rolls backward and lands on the floor with a loud thump. Chloe finds it hilarious that despite their many disagreements, they are still so similar. The twins eye each other warily, which Chloe finds even more comical between their flushed cheeks, drugged expressions, and erect cocks peeking out from their respective trousers. In the course of the evening, somehow neither of them have managed to remove any of their clothing. 

The hysterical giggle that she’s been suppressing since this began bubbles up in her throat and finally escapes, and the two of them watch her in bafflement as she collapses in laughter onto the bed.

“Detective,” Lucifer huffs, at the same time as Michael says, “Come on.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry,” she wheezes, sitting up onto her knees, angling her rear towards Lucifer and beckoning Michael closer. “Come here.”

Lucifer grasps her around the waist and slides back into her from behind, and Chloe draws Michael closer by the hips, slipping his cock into her mouth. Lucifer’s been teasing her about Eiffel Towers for years, and she bets this time is not going to “count” in his estimation. She glances up to find Michael watching her with an expression of extreme fascination, and very deliberately not looking up at his brother. She’s sure Lucifer is much the same, though neither could possibly ignore the sound of Lucifer’s thighs slapping rhythmically against her ass or Chloe slurping and gagging around Michael’s cock.

She clenches around Lucifer and swallows Michael at the same time, prompting them to both curse in stereo. She’s delighted by this newfound ability and sets about figuring out how to prompt different noises in each of them. Lucifer reliably hisses when she rolls her hips forward just so; Michael, when she swirls her tongue around his tip. Lucifer grunts when she pushes back to meet him hard and drags him slower as he withdraws; Michael, when she takes him deep and hums around him.

It doesn’t take long, however, before Lucifer lets out a relieved moan and thrusts into her one last time, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of her hips. Chloe bobs on Michael’s length, working the rest of it vigorously with her hand, and moments later he also spills into her mouth with a groan, his hand fisted in her hair holding her in place as he rides out his orgasm.

The three of them collapse in a heap, Lucifer half on top of Chloe and Michael beside them. Chloe hums in dissatisfaction and slips her hand between her legs, rubbing at her clit just that little bit more that she needs to put her over the edge again. The amount of brand-new, pornographic, inspired-by-a-true-story content in her head makes it very easy. She whimpers in orgasm and relaxes onto the bed again with a sigh, her cheek pillowed on the shoulder of Michael’s extremely rumpled blazer while Lucifer nuzzles the underside of her breast. For the first time since the two of them got dosed, they both seem fully relaxed.

She runs her hand absently through Lucifer’s hair and wonders if there’s possibly a non-humiliating way to bring this night to a close. Probably not, she decides, noticing her shredded shirt lying at the foot of the bed.

After a few minutes, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, which is completely barren aside from hand soap, a towel, and a bottle of 3-in-1 shower gel. She cleans herself up, and by the time she emerges, Lucifer and Michael have zipped up their flies and straightened their clothes and are standing awkwardly in the bedroom, avoiding looking at each other.

Lucifer ruefully offers Chloe her jeans, apparently the only item of clothing that made it out unscathed. 

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” She asks Michael awkwardly as she wriggles into the skinny jeans. He drags his eyes from her breasts up to her face.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He pulls open the closet and snags one of two turtlenecks on hangers inside. Chloe slips it on, swimming in it until she rolls up the sleeves several times. 

“Well, we should be going,” Lucifer says pointedly. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure except it hasn’t and I’d never like to think about this night again.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Chloe gives Michael a tight smile as they reach the front door. “Sorry about...all of this.”

“I probably, uh, won’t be stopping by your work much anymore,” Michael says.

“Thank Dad,” Lucifer mutters.

“So I can expect you to return the shirt...when?” Michael calls after them as Chloe and Lucifer walk out into the courtyard.

“When and if I feel like it, Michael,” Chloe snaps.

He smirks and slams the door. 


End file.
